That Sinking Feeling
by celestial1
Summary: Tony shows emotion. Spoilers for Season 4. Third chapter is up, and it's complete again, I think.
1. Chapter 1

That Sinking Feeling

**author's note**. I knew I had to write this story as soon as I finished watching 'Escaped.' Even though I suspected it was coming, my heart actually sank when I saw Gibbs sitting in Tony's desk. This is what I think should happen on next week's episode, but probably won't. Tony will probably act like he doesn't care, so thank goodness for fan fiction.

In the harsh light of day, I may regret how _angry_ I've written Tony... I do think he's got some inner rage, though. If you don't believe me, go and watch the end of 'Under Covers' again.

* * *

His heart sank. 

Down past his cold-pizza breakfast, below the basketball scars on his knee, his heart sank all the way down to the sensible shoes Tony had begun wearing. It didn't take a trained federal investigator to sum up the situation: his stuff on McGee's desk, a confused Probie near tears with her stack of folders, and Gibbs sitting at his desk - _Tony's_ desk - as if nothing was different except the Captain Kangaroo facial hair.

And McGee _smiled_. He actually stood there and grinned, with his absurdly brilliant teeth, as if the whole thing was a giant joke. Oh sure, it was fun with Tony in charge, he got to wear T-shirts to work and not fear for his life, but no one really took DiNozzo _seriously_, right? No one actually thought Tony deserved it, did they? Oh sure, McGee must have been enormously relieved.

Tony was glad to know what McGee really thought of him.

But no, that was ridiculous. This wasn't fourth grade, and he wasn't the last one picked for dodgeball. And it wasn't Tim's fault, not by a long shot. No, the man responsible for this predicament was sitting there in Tony's chair - it had taken Tony weeks to get the ergonomic controls adjusted to cradle his body perfectly - there he was, smug and hairy and inscrutable.

_Gibbs_ was the one who had betrayed him.

Tony felt sick when he tallied up all the years he had spent, trailing after his boss like a pathetic puppy, schlepping equipment and accepting head-slaps. _On it, Boss. You got it, Boss. I'm on your six, Boss_. He had come to look at the older man as - Tony swallowed hard - a father figure. He may have head-slapped him back to life from the plague, but in the end, he had turned out like his _real_ father, richly deserving of that second B. Because nothing was ever good enough for him, was it? How could Tony have _ever_ thought that he would measure up to expectations?

He had seen it coming, though. Tony was a smart man and a brilliant investigator; he knew from the moment that Gibbs showed up at NCIS a second time. Flying in from Mexico to rescue Ziva was one thing - even if he constantly circumvented the authority that belonged to Tony by rights - because it was only for a few days. This time, the connection was tenuous. It was a case that Tony and Fornell could have handled, _should_ have handled, but Gibbs suddenly didn't trust him. Tony was surprised Gibbs hadn't leaned over his shoulders while he was typing his report, pointing out all the misspelled words.

Tony crossed the bullpen in three long strides, leaned down into Gibbs' whiskered face. "Conference room," he whispered. "_Now_."

Gibbs didn't seem particularly surprised. With a customary half-smile for Ziva and McGee, he silently trailed in the wake of Tony, who was ruthlessly elbowing his way through the morning crush. Almost before the metal doors had slid closed with a small 'ping,' Tony reached over and punched the emergency stop button a lot harder than was strictly necessary. Gibbs had to give DiNozzo points for not flinching, having assaulted the button in a similar manner himself.

"You got something you wanna say, DiNozzo?" Gibbs actually looked amused.

"Just like that, huh." Tony folded his arms across his chest. "Fun's over, kids. Yeah, it's been a laugh and all, but the boss is back, so move over." He looked up at the shiny ceiling, and for a moment, Gibbs thought Tony might cry. "What, you couldn't even grant me the courtesy of a phone call?"

"It wasn't my call, DiNozzo," Gibbs replied, still infuriatingly calm.

"You came back," Tony retorted. "That one's on you. You quit, and then you came back. Don't insult my intelligence by laying it on the Director."

"You wanted me to stay in Mexico." Gibbs wasn't smiling now, his gaze leveled on the younger man. "You don't want me here."

"I don't care where you go," Tony said. "You can be anywhere in the world, for all I care. Anywhere but my desk."

"It's _my_ desk now," Gibbs corrected.

"No." Frustrated, Tony began to pace the tiny cubicle. "It's mine. You left, Gibbs. You turned in your badge. In case you had forgotten, you turned in your badge to _me_."

"I remember that," Gibbs said, so softly that he wasn't sure if Tony heard him.

"Do you know what you said?" Tony's voice was rising in pitch now. "You said, '_You'll do_.' Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but that's good enough for me, right?" Gibbs hadn't remembered that part. He wished he would have said something a little more complimentary, knowing how Tony had always craved any kind of positive reinforcement. _Probably something to do with his father. _"Did you honestly think you could come back and nothing would be different? You could just sit right down and pretend you never quit? "

"I retired, Tony," Gibbs stated. He knew that Tony had to say his piece. "Technically, according to human resources, I was on leave."

"You _quit_," Tony reiterated. "You got mad at someone, and you up and left. Are you planning to quit every time some chain of command doesn't listen to you? This time it was Sealift. Who's it going to be next time? The FBI? Or you going to storm off to Mexico the next time the director doesn't let you have your way? We're NCIS agents. You should be used to it by now." He was red-faced and shouting by now. "You can't demote me just because you got bored of lying on the beach."

Gibbs watched the other man draw a deep breath. "You finished, DiNozzo?"

He wasn't. "You know, _I_ led the team for three months." Tony stabbed the palm of his hand with a pointing finger. "I did everything I was supposed to, I didn't screw up once. I would have found Ziva, and I would have caught Mickey. I'm not a probie anymore."

"You screwed up," Gibbs countered, the old tone returning to his voice. "He stole your car, and he bugged you. We almost didn't catch him because of you and your _campfires_."

"Yeah?" Tony snapped. "And what would you have done differently?" Gibbs was silent, because they both knew the accusation was unfair. "You know, your perfect Kate screwed up all the time. She trusted people she shouldn't, she lost her gun for Pete's sake. And you never stopped trusting her. You never would have done this to her."

"Hey!" Gibbs screamed right in Tony's face, channeling his inner Marine. "You leave Kate out of this."

"Her blood was on my face, Gibbs!" Tony shouted right back. "You think you're the only one who cares? You think you're the only one who gets obsessed? What if we wouldn't have caught Mickey? How long would you have chased Paulson for?"

"About a day longer than you," Gibbs said, but at least he took a step back from Tony.

"_You_ trained me," Tony said. "And I'm a good agent. Oh sure, it would have been nice to hear you say so, I don't know, maybe _once_, but you and I both know it. I've earned my keep. You would never have gotten my job if you hadn't slept with the Director."

That actually caught Gibbs off-guard. "How'd you know about that?"

"Serbia," Tony explained, "and I'm not an idiot. She's a redhead."

"I am _not_ here because I slept with the director." Gibbs quickly recovered from his momentary surprise. "You know why I'm here."

"Because you changed your mind."

"Because I came out of retirement."

"You didn't retire. You _quit_."

Gibbs tried a different tack. "If I recall correctly, DiNozzo, you've left quite a few places behind, yourself."

"I've moved on, yeah," Tony admitted, looking at the wall. "But I've always moved _up_ the ladder, never down. I came here because you _wanted_ me."

"I still had to whip you into shape. Give me credit where credit is due."

"Fine." Tony whirled around to face his boss again. "You have my desk. You have my team. Do you want my pay raise, too?" He pulled a wad of bills from his wallet, threw it at Gibbs' feet. "I only would have wasted it on coffee."

"Pick that up, DiNozzo," Gibbs ordered calmly.

"No." Tony frowned, sourly. He knew he was being irrational, but he didn't care.

"Pick it up," Gibbs repeated. He reached for the elevator stop button. "The Director wants to see you."

Tony met his eyes, but didn't move. "I said, pick it up," Gibbs ordered a third time. Not breaking eye contact, Tony retrieved his cash from the elevator floor. "You done now?"

"For now," Tony muttered.

"Good," Gibbs said evenly.

He caught Gibbs' hand midair before it could contact the back of his head. "You don't get to do that any more."

"I wasn't going to slap you, Tony," Gibbs said softly as the elevator started to move again.


	2. Chapter 2

**author's note.** I really did intend for this story to be a oneshot. I wrote the first chapter the same night that 'Escaped' was aired, based on my immediate feelings from watching it, and I tried to explore what _could_ happen. Obviously the show has moved beyond that, so this has less to do with what could happen and more to do with what exists inside my head. Does that make sense? In other words, this chapter (and the next, when I finish editing it) will be much more AU than the first. It's also a bit darker, for me, since I don't usually hurt Tony...

I really should stop apologizing; I'm told it's a sign of weakness.

* * *

The second knock went unanswered, even though he knew the occupant was inside. And on some level, Gibbs didn't blame DiNozzo for refusing to answer the door. He could feel the other man's presence, his anger radiating through the door like a slow burn. And he knew that if he opened the door, adding oxygen to the fire might cause the room to explode. 

This didn't stop him.

Gibbs carried keys for all of his team members, plus Abby and Ducky. He had learned the hard way the value of being prepared. "I'm coming in, DiNozzo," he said, forehead pressed into the door frame as he sorted through the keys on his chain. He had removed a lot of keys over the years. The one engraved 'TD' was still there.

He had expected boxes, but he hadn't expected blood. There was a lot of blood, and there was broken glass. Gibbs' hand immediately went to his weapon. "Tony!" he shouted, not seeing the younger man immediately. "DiNozzo! You okay?"

"I'm here," Tony said wearily, and coming around the couch, Gibbs saw him sitting cross-legged on the floor alongside an open box. Half of his DVD's had been haphazardly packed, while the other half remained on the shelf.

Gibbs holstered his gun. "What happened in here, DiNozzo?" Tony still hadn't met his eyes.

"I cut my hand," Tony said, raising his right arm to indicate the appendage wrapped in a dishtowel. A filthy dishtowel, knowing Tony's housekeeping skills. "I broke a glass."

"Of all the stupid things to do," Gibbs said, insulting the man again in his relief. Blood usually indicated a crime scene, and that was one thing he couldn't take right now. "Let me see."

"No," Tony refused. "It's fine. Either start helping me pack, or go away, all right?"

Gibbs wasn't stronger, but he took him by surprise. He pried the younger man's arm away and loosened the bloody towel. "Looks like you'll need stitches, Tony," Gibbs said, trying to keep his tone light. Trying to act like Tony had been injured in the line of duty - _again_ - and not sliced open his hand in what Gibbs wasn't totally convinced was an accident.

"It's not your concern, _Jethro_," Tony replied, avoiding the word 'Boss.' "I've already given my resignation."

"And I haven't accepted," Gibbs said calmly. It was something that they both already knew. "You're going to have to turn in your badge to the Director if you want to be gone that bad."

"Maybe I do," Tony whispered, retrieving his injured hand. He curled his upper body protectively over it, his Baltimore PD t-shirt already streaked with blood.

"Come on," Gibbs said, pulling at the younger man's shoulder. "At least let Ducky see it." Tony shook his head mutely, and returned to packing his movies. Using only his left hand, it was very slow going. "It's your _right_ hand, DiNozzo," Gibbs added. "What are you planning on doing with your life if you can't shoot?"

And that seemed to turn the tide for Tony. He had carried a gun and a badge for so long now, he couldn't imagine going back. It had become a part of him. "All right," he sighed with resignation. "But just Ducky."

"Just Ducky," Gibbs agreed. He knew there was a good chance that Dr. Mallard would take one look at the hand and send him to the emergency room. The hand is a very complicated appendage, full of… tendons and stuff. _Might as well burn _that _bridge when we get to it. _"Come on. I'll drive you."

Tony rose, and made a move to the door. Apparently he had forgotten that he wasn't wearing any shoes; glass crunched under his bare feet. "Don't move, Tony." Gibbs stopped him with his hands on Tony's shoulders. "I'll get your shoes."

Tony nodded mutely; Gibbs left him standing there among the ruins of his living room and moved off down the hall. He had seen that look before; he had been in combat enough to know the shell-shocked expression of men who just stopped caring entirely. They could be bleeding to death or just have a scratch, and they'd just stare and stare as if that spot behind and six inches to the left of your head was the most fascinating thing in the world. Somehow, Gibbs had never expected to see that look coming from Tony.

Tony's bed was piled with the contents of his closet and dresser, Hugo Boss suits intermingling with dirty jeans and sweatshirts. Half-concealed by the Ohio State jacket was Tony's striped shirt - the one he had put on when Gibbs sent Tony home to change, when his clothes were soaked through with rain and Kate's blood. Gibbs had always hated that striped shirt. It seemed like when Tony wore it, he was shouting to the world, "Look at me! I can wear a ridiculous shirt and still be a competent federal agent!" Come to think of it, the shirt hadn't appeared for a while.

Gibbs was surprised to realize that he missed it.

There was no time for regret, or for swearing, or for screaming and shouting and breaking the rest of DiNozzo's drinking glasses. Gibbs found a pair of worn running shoes that would at least prevent Tony's feet from being cut to ribbons, and hoped the man hadn't moved from the exact spot in the living room where Gibbs had left him.

He'd grown skittish, colt-like, all long legs and big eyes. Not just this evening, but over the past few weeks. Gibbs knew he had to approach the other man carefully or he'd cut and run, both literally and figuratively. It was different when Stan Burley left. Then, there had been a manly handshake and a regretful parting of ways, and each man had missed the other for all of about a week. Not that Burley wasn't a good agent - he was - but Gibbs had never viewed him as anything but dispensable. DiNozzo, now, had that odd combination of hyper-competence, puppy-like need, and happy-go-lucky slackerness that had made him Gibbs' perfect other half.

They were sort of a crime-fighting yin and yang.

Had been, anyway.

Gibbs moved carefully across the living room, finding Tony doing his impersonation of a statue. _Always was good at impressions. _He put a hand on each of Tony's shoulders, in what passed for a hug among men. "Let's go," he said gently.


	3. Chapter 3

**authors note**. Thanks for all the reviews! And to clear up any confusion… The conversation between Tony and the Director is the one that appears in the show, where she offers him the Rota posting and he turns it down; I haven't portrayed that scene because I wanted to keep it a story about Tony and Gibbs. As far as timeline, Chapter One occurs between 'Escaped' and 'Singled Out,' and the last two chapters take place sometime in the hypothetical future, weeks or even months later.

And with last night's episode, they've made me a liar with the striped shirt. Ugh.

Anyway. On to the story.

* * *

"I still say, Sean Connery was the best Bond."

Tony leaned against the workbench, impossibly relaxed, long legs crossed at the ankle. He still wore sweatpants and running shoes without any socks, but he had at least exchanged his blood-streaked T shirt for a clean one of Gibbs'. His boss knew he was still hurting, and not just because he had eleven stitches in the palm of his hand. Gibbs wondered how much of his sudden insouciance was artifice - a put-on meant to get Gibbs off his case - and how much was the genuine result of good pain drugs and bad whiskey.

Gibbs guessed the ratio was about sixty-forty.

"Shaken, not stirred," DiNozzo was saying in his best 007. "So anyway, Nurse Emma pointed out to me later that I'd forgotten Timothy Dalton, which is weird, because I remembered George Lazenby, right?"

"George Lazenby. Right, DiNozzo." Gibbs picked up his sander with a small grin.

Ducky had taken one look at Tony's wound, given him a fresh bandage and a pat on the back, and sent them off to a real hospital. Tony would have been furious about this but he was already growing woozy from the blood loss. After his hand had been stitched up by an actual surgeon, when the first round of drugs wore off and Tony grew agitated, Gibbs struck a bargain with the emergency room staff. The end result of that bargain being that Tony was here, in Gibbs' basement, watching the older man sand his boat with patient strokes. Tony would sleep on Gibbs' couch tonight, and not for the first time, either.

"So, what really happened?"

Tony immediately sobered, straightening imperceptibly against the workbench. "What?"

"Don't 'what' me," Gibbs said, gesturing towards Tony's injured hand. "Tell me what really happened."

Tony studied the hand, himself. "I told you, I broke a glass." He squirmed under Gibbs' withering glare, which almost never failed to work on suspects in interrogation. "I… may have thrown it against a wall. I was trying to clean it up, that's all."

"And you thought you should pick up the pieces with your bare hands?" Gibbs accused, but still, he was relieved. _Stupid, but an accident_. "Don't you own a dustpan? Wait - don't answer that." Tony smiled ruefully. "You ever do something that stupid again, and I will head slap you all the way back to Pittsburgh."

Tony didn't have the heart to point out that it was Philadelphia, not Pittsburgh.

"So why are you still here, anyway?" Gibbs pressed. Maybe the painkillers would allow him to get some answers.

"I'm here for the conversation." Tony held up a battered NIS mug with his good hand, swirled it a little so that the liquid sloshed around inside. "And the drinks." One lousy shot: Gibbs had poured him one ounce of bourbon in a dusty mug, not wanting to explain to Ducky why his senior field agent was passed out on the basement floor. And darned if DiNozzo hadn't been nursing it for the past twenty minutes. This irritated Gibbs to no end because it was _not_ a sipping drink: it was meant to be knocked back in one gulp, so you didn't taste it.

"You know what I mean," Gibbs responded evenly. "Rota. Why didn't you take the offer?"

Tony was suddenly alert. "You knew about that? She said she wasn't going to tell."

Gibbs raised a calming hand. "I figured it out, DiNozzo. I've been an investigator since you were a drunken frat boy. Why'd you turn it down?"

"European women," Tony grinned, relaxed again. "I've heard they don't shave."

"Did you hear they have topless beaches?" Gibbs added, just to make his agent squirm.

"Dang!" Tony said, under his breath.

Gibbs turned back to the boat. "You know, Stan Burley took the Rota assignment."

"Stan Burley," Tony repeated, enunciating the name of his rival.

"Not who I would have chosen," Gibbs added offhandedly.

"Yeah?" Tony's face was a question mark. "Why's that?"

"Stan's married now," Gibbs explained, and Tony's face fell just a little. "He has a kid. That kind of life is rough on families." He peered up from the boat, watching his agent. "But Stan'll do fine. He's a good agent. He's ready for his own team."

He had to ask; he didn't care how pathetic it would probably sound. "What about me?" Tony probed. "Do you think I was ready for my own team?"

Gibbs was noncommittal. "Do _you_?"

Tony shrugged. "I'm not a kid anymore. I'm thirty-five." And, counting backwards, Gibbs was surprised to discover that he was right. He'd been a few months shy of thirty when he joined NCIS - old for a probie, actually - but the combination of experience and innocence had always blurred his chronological age. "I like to think I've learned a few things."

"Then why'd you want to resign, Tony?" Gibbs asked quietly.

And there it was. Tony couldn't help thinking that the whole conversation was a set-up, but he was too tired to argue. "I should have interrogated Sergeant Brown," he stated. "I worked that case all summer. It's just dumb luck that we didn't get a lead until now."

"He's a Marine," Gibbs said, as if that explained everything.

"I know how to interrogate a Marine," Tony pointed out. "I didn't join NCIS yesterday."

Gibbs actually looked amused. "Is that right, DiNozzo."

"I've been shot at, beaten drugged and kidnapped. I caught the plague, for Pete's sake, Gibbs. I think I can handle one lousy Marine sergeant who is clearly guilty." Tony was breathing hard, angry.

Gibbs was a bit angry, himself. "It's not your call. _I'm_ team lead now."

"Yes, you've reminded us all of that, and thank you," Tony snapped. "It was _my_ case. Did you know I spent all of July Fourth weekend at my desk, working that case?"

"I didn't know." Gibbs pictured his agent, sleeping at his desk in an empty bullpen, and was proud.

"No, you didn't know, because you _quit_."

"I _retired_."

"And yet, here you are," Tony replied sarcastically. "Funny, you don't look like Michael Jordan to me."

Gibbs ran a hand over his head with half a smile. "More hair, for one." And Tony had to grin at that, in spite of himself. "You should have taken the interrogation. You're right."

"Wow." _Wow, I thought I'd die before I ever heard_ - They each knew what the other man was thinking, so Tony left it at 'Wow.' "Look. You asked me to step up, and I did. I ran the team for four moths. I did a good job."

"I know."

"You do?" Tony asked, with some surprise.

"Jenny told me. And… I knew."

"I understand if you wanted to come back, but you could have called. If you've forgotten my number, it's in your speed dial." Number one on his speed dial, actually, but Tony wasn't aware of that. "I didn't deserve to be shoved aside like that."

"I know." Gibbs was genuinely regretful of piling Tony's things on his desk. Of the 'what?' that had made his agent's face fall like a little boy's. "It was a crappy thing to do."

Tony's face relaxed into a wide grin. "Is that an apology?"

Of course he would have to push it. Gibbs became gruff again. "What do you want me to say, DiNozzo?"

Tony couldn't meet his eyes. "Say I'm a good agent."

"You're a great agent, Tony," Gibbs said so softly that Tony could barely hear him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the younger man stand a little straighter. "I wouldn't have kept you around if you weren't." And once it was said, Tony could go another five years on that one statement. "I promise, the next time I leave, I'll call you before I come back. All right?"

"All right." Tony's anger was draining away; he remembered just how much his hand was hurting him.

"But next time you resign, I'm not putting it in the circular file."

"Fair enough." Tony sagged against the workbench, suddenly looking very tired. "I'm going to hit the hay." He set down the mug - which in some miraculous, loaves-and-fishes manner was still not empty - and headed for the stairs.

Gibbs knocked back the remainder of his own drink and listened for the movements upstairs to stop. Once, when Kelly was learning to walk, she'd fallen against the edge of a table and needed stitches. Even though the emergency room staff was kind and professional, Jethro and Shannon had felt defensive the whole time they were there. _We're not bad parents_, they kept wanting to say. _We didn't do this to her. We love our daughter. It was an accident. _And even though Tony wasn't his responsibility, Gibbs had felt somewhat the same way at the hospital with him that night. _It's not my fault. He didn't do this because of me_.

The thing was, Gibbs knew what had caused this situation. He liked to think that he treated his people better than Mike Franks had treated _him_ - and now he didn't exactly have the best track record, in that area. But there was still time. They had reached an uneasy truce for now, and Gibbs was _not _going to lose his best agent.

After twenty minutes , Gibbs abandoned the boat and headed upstairs himself. Tony was sleeping the sleep of the dead in the living room. He was too tall for the couch; his bare feet hung over one end. He would have cut his feet to ribbons, if Gibbs hadn't stopped him. Or he'd still be sitting there, amid the glass and blood and half-packed boxes. Freed from the sling, Tony's bandaged hand rested lightly on his chest, rising and falling with the motions of breathing. Gibbs could remember a time, not that long ago, when even the rhythm of his breathing would have been a miracle. When he had almost died of the plague, Gibbs had simply ordered him not to die and _Tony had believed him. _They were past that now.

Tomorrow, they would return to Tony's apartment. They'd clean up the broken glass and the blood. They could sort through his half-filled boxes and put everything away again. _Technically, it is tomorrow_, Gibbs realized, looking at the clock. _Okay, so when the sun comes up_. He snapped off the table lamp, leaving Tony in the darkness.

The anger would still be there in the morning, but this was a start.


End file.
